Yasmina stared at him for a moment, seemingly stunned by his sheer beauty. Nichelle knew how she felt. Yasmina cleared her throat. “Please allow our guides to take you out into the desert and show you more of it. You will be bored sitting in an air-conditioned room for the rest of the day. Although I’m sure, if forced, you can find some ways of entertaining yourselves.”
Though Yasmina’s voice wasn’t the least bit suggestive—she could have been talking about knitting and Parcheesi for all Nichelle knew—Nichelle blushed. It would be all too easy to fall into bed with Wolfe and spend the next few hours rolling around in the sheets with him and screaming his name until she was hoarse.
Nichelle nodded but did not meet Wolfe’s eyes. “Thank you for that,” she said. “We may take you up on the offer.” Nichelle glanced at Wolfe, an inquiry in her gaze. “Yes?”
He nodded, almost looking bored. “Yes.”
Yasmina nodded, everything decided.
“That went well.” Wolfe stated the obvious when they were back in the limo and heading for the hotel. He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped his head back against the leather seat. “You were amazing in there.” He winked at her before going back to his impression of a bored corporate tycoon. “But I don’t want to talk about it until he gives us his answer.”
“And Yasmina said they’ll let us know by tomorrow.” It seemed like too much time to wait.
“Yes.” He’d also been surprised when the efficient woman promised them results sooner than anticipated. “So...the desert.” Wolfe’s eyes were closed, hands balanced on his thighs spread wide in the smoke-colored slacks. He was fighting a grin of excitement. Nichelle was fighting the urge to crawl into his lap and kiss the smile from his face, nibble on his bottom lip and lick the inside of his mouth until he made the same hungry noises from last night.
She shifted in her seat. “I think you’d like the desert.” And it would be a relief to escape the stifling intimacy of the hotel and the city. Maybe a desert ride was what they needed to put things in perspective.
He made a sound of agreement and reached for his phone to make the arrangements. Silk whispered against leather as she stretched out full length in the seat across from him and gladly allowed him to take charge of the excursion. She was drained from the performance but knew she wouldn’t completely relax until they got word of Quraishi’s decision. The next few hours were going to feel like forever.
Two hours later, after a meal and change of clothes, they strode down the front steps of the hotel again and back into the day’s heat. Nichelle fumbled to a stop. Walking just ahead of them and dressed in casual clothes were Isaac Franklin and Orlando Green. Nichelle had a feeling that this wasn’t just coincidence. What the hell was Quraishi playing at?
“I think we’re going to have a little company.” Wolfe’s breath brushed her ear as he murmured the words.
She shivered from the contact and roughly corralled her attention before it could wander. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”
He straightened at her side, a hand tucked into the small of her back guiding her toward the Mercedes-Benz SUV idling at the curb. A driver, in the familiar black and white, stood holding the door open.
“Monsieurs and madame.” The driver greeted them all with a formal bow, his hand still on the edge of the open door. He took Wolfe’s bag and put it in the trunk.
Isaac looked at Nichelle with familiar and barely concealed dislike. “Ladies first,” he said.
She shook her head with a cool smile. “Age before beauty.” Then she tipped her gaze to Wolfe, giving herself time to get acclimated to this new situation. “That means you’re last.”
Wolfe gave a shout of laughter. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were trying to butter me up for something later.”
“Do you know better?”
While the banter flowed light and easy between them, the two men got into the car ahead of them, having no choice but to climb into the two rear seats of the boxy but luxurious truck while Nichelle and Wolfe claimed the seats in the middle row behind the driver.
The truck smelled like new leather. If luxury had a smell, this was it—leather and wood mixed with the particular chemical tang of the air-conditioning. The truck pulled away from the curb with a throaty purr moments before mellow jazz began to play from the harman/kardon speakers.
In the seats behind her, Nichelle heard the shift of bodies against leather, and a low rumbling question she didn’t catch. She sighed, not wanting to talk to either of the two men behind her. She scraped her nails through her short curls and leaned back in the seat. Beside her, Wolfe caught her eyes and smiled. In his gaze she saw the faint reminder of their night, the kiss, the restless evening they’d shared separately.
“Relax,” he murmured.
He offered his hand, glancing down at her legs. She sighed, silently this time, not having the strength of will to stand up to the temptation he offered, even in the midst of their awkwardness. She did what he silently asked, what she always wanted from him, which was to slip off her red-and-black Jordan high-tops and her socks and drape her feet in his lap while she lay with her back pressed to the locked door. With the fine attention to detail that he did everything he thought important, he began to massage her feet.
His sinful hands stroked every inch of her feet, up to her ankles and her calves, while she breathed deeply and just barely stopped the most obscene noises from leaving her lips.
“Oh, God... I love you,” she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Wolfe’s hands paused on her feet. His gaze touched her face; she felt it as surely as if he’d put his hand there. There was so much she wanted to say to him, maybe even needed to say. But she was very aware of the eavesdropping ears of the men behind them.
Outside the window of the SUV, the surroundings slowly changed from hotels and spas and nightclubs to languid stretches of desert as they left the clutter of the city behind.
The AC pumped cool air over Nichelle’s face, nearly lulling her into sleep as she watched Wolfe with her feet in his lap. He looked so content that suddenly nothing mattered. Not the awkwardness that had been between them the night before. Not the kiss that sparked many dreams, and certainly not the bright diamonds that sparkled from her left hand.
She’d wanted to take off the rings once the meeting was over, but Wolfe waved a hand in dismissal of her discomfort. “The show doesn’t end until we get back to Miami,” he’d said.
She knew he was right, but that didn’t make the rings any more comfortable to wear. Although, if she was being really honest, part of the discomfort lay in how right the wedding band felt on her finger. If she wasn’t looking at it and obsessing about thoughts of a nude Wolfe, it would be completely natural to have it there, a beam of light between her and him, on her hand.
Over an hour later, the SUV pulled into the sandy drive of a house that seemed to appear out of nowhere in the flat, beige landscape. The house was white, a simple and squat rectangle with an attached verandah. In the yard, two hammocks hung parallel to each other under a large fig tree. One hammock was occupied while the other swayed, empty.
Just then, a man in gorgeous cobalt blue robes opened the door of the SUV and welcomed the four of them out into the desert heat. A dry wind blew against Nichelle’s face and her bare throat. She adjusted the sunglasses over her eyes, glad she’d packed her darkest and most effective pair. The sun was a bright and oppressive presence in the sky.
The man in blue smiled widely at them. He was tall, and Nichelle had noticed that most of the men in Marrakesh were not. His height was a graceful counterpoint to his body moving like water beneath the calf-length robes. Incongruous acid-washed jeans and black flip-flops completed the rest of his outfit.
“Greetings!” he called out. “I am Mahmoud.”
Another man, similarly dressed but in pale blue-and-white-striped robes, came up behind him. He bowed and introduced himself, first in French, then in Arabic, as Kareef.
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��Mahmoud and I will be taking care of you this evening and through the night,” Kareef said. “We will try not to lose you in the desert and earn Monsieur Quraishi’s displeasure.”
Although he was joking, there was something in the look his partner threw him, a warning and tight-lipped smile. But Kareef ignored Mahmoud.
“Come.” Kareef gestured toward the house.
On the verandah, he gave Nichelle and Wolfe packs filled with bottles of water and face towels. Mahmoud wrapped a flowing piece of cloth around Nichelle’s head and face while Wolfe watched, paying close enough attention that he was able to securely wrap his own when the time came.
The camels were already saddled and waiting in a patch of sand nearby, crouched on their stomachs, almost like cats, their backs burdened with large padded saddles and their heads and mouths harnessed with leading ropes. Even on their bellies, the beasts looked tall.
Nichelle narrowed her eyes at the camel closest to her. Its big eyes blinked back, placid as a cow’s.
“Don’t be afraid.” Wolfe touched her back and she shivered, despite her earlier determination to shrug off his effect on her and act as if Paris had never happened. Or last night.
She looked at him as if he were crazy. But too late, she caught the glimmer of a tease in his eyes. He knew that he had essentially just challenged her to climb on top of this moving mountain and show no fear. She clenched her jaw. “Right.”
“Madame.” Mahmoud waved her toward the beast she had just been eyeballing. “Your chariot awaits.” His French was fluid, flavored with something else that made it even more beautiful.
Kareef called out something to him in Arabic and he shouted back, not turning away from Nichelle. He guided her toward the camel. She held her breath, expecting a stench from the beast. But an accidental breath had her sighing in surprise. All she could smell was the dry desert air, faint sweat from the men and, very, very lightly, Wolfe’s particular, masculine scent.
“Climb on and lean back. Relax and keep your thighs tight around her while she stands up.” He nodded at the camel who almost looked...friendly.
Aware of Wolfe and his laughing gaze, she swung her leg over the large animal and held on to the front of the saddle.
“Hold on!” he called out to the camel, and the beast rose to her full height. Nichelle rocked in the high saddle, gripping it tightly from the expected but no less startling movement, the sensation of the ground receding even farther away.
Oh God!
The guide held the reins in his hand, watching to see if she was okay with the current state of affairs. When she nodded, he passed the reins to her.
“Hold these and wait.”
Nichelle nodded again.
She controlled herself enough to see Wolfe taking a more graceful seat, swinging his leg in a movement that stretched his slacks taut against his backside. With a confident nod to their guide, his beautiful body rose into the air atop the camel as the animal stood up. Why did he have to be so damned gorgeous?
After seeing to Isaac and Green, the two guides mounted their camels with a minimum of fuss and led the foursome under the bright sun into the desert. Nichelle knew it was Wolfe’s dream to be here in the heat with nothing around them, no cars, no city, no burdens. He had often shared with her while they sat in the aftermath of one project or another in the office, his tie loosened and her shoes kicked aside, that sometimes he just wanted to jump on a horse and ride. Keep going until the horse got tired and just see where they ended up. It wasn’t about escape for him, but an exploration and love of the unfamiliar.
He sat atop the camel next to her, chatting amicably with their guides, his body swaying with the movement of the beast, as if this ride and this desert were the most familiar things in the world. Isaac and Green rode together at the very back.
“Yasmina tells me you are here on business,” Mahmoud said to Nichelle, his brilliant blue robes blowing in the strong wind. “You are a woman of glass towers like her?” He seemed genuinely interested.
“Not like her.” Then Nichelle shrugged. “Well, maybe. She is wonderful, whatever she is. I only met her a few days ago.”
“Yes, she is wonderful.” Something moved behind his eyes, more than admiration for the absent businesswoman perhaps? Nichelle wondered how they knew each other.
When she asked, Mahmoud seemed happy to share. “My father worked with hers when I was a child. I saw her grow up.”
Ah. Nichelle nodded. Mahmoud didn’t seem much older than his midtwenties, handsome and relaxed under the desert sun, the turbaned blue cloth protecting his head, white teeth flashing as he spoke.
“I didn’t realize she was so young.”
“Yes. She has come very far from her station.” He looked proud. “One day, she will own that glass tower she works in.”
Nichelle didn’t doubt him. In just the few times she’d had the chance to speak with Yasmina, the woman seemed determined and strong-willed, allowing nothing, not even the perceived role of Muslim women, to get in the way of what she wanted. Her drive was inspiring. Nichelle said as much to Mahmoud.
“Yes, she has her eyes on the stars, that one.”
But what about the diamonds scattered at her feet? It wasn’t difficult to see that he was in love with her. Or at least something very much like love. He seemed to want the best for her. The longing in his voice was unmistakable.
“You love her?” she asked in English.
He was quiet for a moment, and she thought he didn’t understand. Then he shook his head. “It is not my place to love one such as her,” he replied in the same language. “I would only weigh her down and prevent her from reaching the glimmer above that she’s always wanted.”
Nichelle could identify with wanting everything. Sun, moon and stars. Even if she had a lover whom she wanted as much as he wanted her. But, if she had to choose, could she give up the glimmering heavens of corporate success for a chance at love? She didn’t know. She’d never been in the position to choose. Her gaze flickered to Wolfe. As if he sensed her regard, he looked back over his shoulder. He hitched a brow, silently asking if anything was wrong. She gave him back a tiny shake of her head. All clear.
Mahmoud didn’t miss a thing. He chuckled. “I see.”
They rode on, Mahmoud and Kareef telling them different facts about the desert, plant life, stories of Westerners getting lost under the burning sun and not found until their bones had bleached white in the hot sands. Wolfe laughed and encouraged them to tell more stories, the more gruesome and ridiculous the better, until Mahmoud and Kareef were trying to outdo each other with the most outrageous stories, the six of them laughing until the two-hour ride was finished for the afternoon. They stopped under a cluster of tall palm trees to drink water, tend to personal business and take a brief shelter from the sun.
Nichelle clambered down from her seated camel and found a big rock near the pond that rippled under the palm trees. An honest-to-God oasis. Sweat dripped down her back and between her breasts. Her thin jeans clung to her skin, damp in places. The turban she wore caught the sweat on her forehead, preventing the sting to her eyes. But she still squinted behind her sunglasses, actually enjoying the novelty of the experience. Who’d have thought it, this Miami girl surrounded by sand and no ocean in sight? She mopped her throat and chest with her handkerchief.
Wolfe looked cool and relaxed, laughing with the two guides. Yes, he was definitely enjoying himself. She looked up when she felt another presence. Isaac Franklin. His friend was sticking close to Mahmoud and Kareef, who had drifted, like most people, into Wolfe’s irresistible orbit.
“So, who do you think will get this contract?” Isaac asked.
She immediately tensed at his fake good humor. They both had the mentality of sharks in bloody water, and she despised him for acting otherwise, especially out here where it didn’t matter.
“That’s not something I want to think about right now.” She didn’t bother to smile.
Isaac nodded as if she
had just uttered the sagest of recommendations. Nichelle knew she had her bitch face on, but didn’t feel inclined to change it. It was annoying enough that she and Wolfe had been herded together with Isaac and his colleague for this desert tour. She’d wanted it just to be her and Wolfe, for him to enjoy the journey without the annoyance of Isaac’s presence to derail his good mood. Though to be fair, she was the one getting irritated. Wolfe seemed perfectly fine. A few feet away, he laughed with the guides, his head flung back, white teeth a brilliant contrast in his darkening face. She smiled from just the sound of his laughter.
Isaac didn’t miss the direction of her gaze. “So you and Diallo, huh?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Yes, she was perpetrating a fraud for their would-be client. But she’d be damned if she’d discuss anything to do with her personal life with Isaac.
But he wouldn’t drop it. “Everybody at Sterling thought that was why you left us in the first place. From what I hear around town, that’s some first class pipe you left us for.”
Nichelle drew a deep breath. No, she was not talking about Wolfe’s sex game with anyone, least of all Isaac Franklin. She stood up and wiped off the bottom of her jeans.
“Go screw yourself.” She turned and walked away.
The desert excursion was a challenge of some type. That was becoming more obvious with each passing moment she spent with Isaac. Quraishi hadn’t just taken four people out in the desert on camels, all expenses paid, simply out of the kindness of his heart.
But Nichelle had to admit she was a little too frazzled to play whatever game was afoot. Her head wasn’t quite there. She glanced again at the reason why and kept walking until she was just about on the water’s edge, opposite where Isaac stood glaring at her. She wet her handkerchief and pressed it to her face, sighing at the relief from the heat.
After only a half hour at the oasis where they refreshed themselves, adjusted wilting turbans and drank water, their group prepared to move on.
Wolfe wandered over to Nichelle. “I wonder how much pee ends up in the water.” He jerked his head toward the small pond where she had dipped her rag and wiped her face at least half a dozen times since they’d stopped. She noticed Orlando Green zipping himself up as he moved from behind a tree.
Affair of Pleasure Page 9
